


Disintegration

by Davechicken



Series: The Emperor and his Knight [19]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7000357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo is not holding together very well, in TFO. Poe starts to worry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disintegration

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: Canon-equivalent Snoke badness

Kylo is falling apart. There is no other way to describe it. Poe sees it even when the Dark Jedi is fully masked, even if no one else does. A set to the line of his shoulders, a flexion of his hands, a tone in his modulated voice. He is cracking slowly under the pressure, becoming volatile and disturbed.

In private, he is withdrawn. He’ll unmask, and his face would be pale and sunken. His eyes wouldn’t shine for hours, and sometimes not at all. He would _try_ to smile, but often they would be empty smiles, a gash of pink and no heart behind it at all. If they made love at all, it was almost like it came from a sense of duty. Kylo refuses to fuck him, not again after the last time he’d tried and he’d left hand-print bruises on his hips. Poe feels empty afterwards, with their sweat and fluids cooling. He doesn’t feel like he used to, and he doesn’t really understand why. _He_ still loves Kylo, though he fears Kylo no longer loves him. He knows, for the first time, the sadness after lovemaking, where before it had always been blissful and bonding. 

Is this what happens when the love of your life moves on?

Would Kylo be better if Poe left? After all, Poe only followed to protect him, to keep him safe, and he can’t even protect his heart. What use is he, really, against all the things Kylo faces? He’s Force-less, weak, and he can’t even make him happy in private. He knows Kylo’s pride will prevent him from ending things, but he also doesn’t want to live a half-life, making Kylo more upset.

One night, he decides he can’t do it any more. They’re supposed to spend most of the night, and Kylo turns up late. Poe’s about ready to ask him to release his obligations when Kylo staggers in, staring at his gloved hands.

That’s not right. He can feel the terror, anguish and self-loathing as clearly as if he had the Force, and he goes straight to him, grasping his upper arm, even as the Knight flinches.

“Kylo?”  


Kylo goes down to one knee, and Poe follows. He clasps both his biceps, and then grabs for his mask, ripping it from his face. Kylo tries to stop him, but he won’t let him. It’s coming off. He needs to see his face.

“Kylo… what’s… what’s happened?”  


“He - he–”  


There’s horror in his eyes that Poe’s never seen, not like this, and he grips his face between two hands, trying to ground him. He knew - of course he knew - when they jumped ship and came here that there’d be bad days, but there’d been bad days on the other side, too. Days where the voice in Ben’s head had been so venomous, or strong, or unbearable that he’d cried himself to sleep in Poe’s bed. Children, then. They’d been children. Ben had been terrified and exhausted by it, and Poe had, of course, had no way to stop it. He couldn’t get into the other’s head, he didn’t have any tools or tricks up his sleeve. How did you fight a monster who you couldn’t touch? Couldn’t hear? How did you protect your best friend, then?

Coming here was supposed to stop it. Poe is no idiot: he knows Snoke is Dark. But Dark is more than just murder, because Kylo is Dark and Kylo is full of love and care. Kylo burns so brightly that the sun would blaze to touch him, and loves so fiercely that even an Order full of Jedi couldn’t keep him from Poe’s arms. 

He knows Snoke is Dark, but he thought maybe the worst of the conflict would be gone, here. Gone, when Kylo did as Snoke wanted. When he became his Dark Knight, and took the helm, and swore his fealty to Snoke’s cause. He’d thought it would just be some… well. Some casualties of war, but Kylo is shattering right in front of him.

What was it today? There’s no visible blood, but that means nothing. He knows Kylo is capable of destroying someone without laying a single finger on them, knows he can rip a mind to shreds. Knows, too, that his lover feels every life he snuffs out, the empty void in the Force where they had been. 

They’d talked about it, before they came. Talked about how they’d have to kill, and Poe had eventually asked Ben if he knew how many people his parents or uncle had killed? How many had they had to mow down, to win? What was the difference, if one side had them, or the other? Ben was suffering _now_ , and the Jedi and the Republic and the rest of them weren’t helping. So what was the real difference, in leaving? His mother had died, and the Order was just another Empire, right? So what had she died for? Nothing. Nothing, because her husband ran away and hid, and Poe didn’t want to turn into a man like that, one who ran from the world and felt bitter.

Ben hadn’t been able to cope with the Jedi way, or been able to fight off Snoke. This had seemed like the better plan, and on most days it was. Most days Kylo was fine, and he functioned better, and was happier, and they were both grateful for the chance to live their lives in relative peace and quiet.

Those days had been fewer, and further between of late. Kylo had turned firecracker hot, exploding at the slightest slip, and then sullen and withdrawn. And Poe… Poe had been selfish, thinking it meant he wasn’t needed, when really… Kylo needs him now, more than ever, doesn’t he?

Kneeling, swaying, sick and heart-sore. Poe pulls his head down, kisses his brow. “It’s okay.”

“It isn’t.”  


“Okay. It isn’t. How do we make it okay?”  


Kylo looks stricken, and it’s agony. The pain washes off him in waves, and he shakes his head. “Can’t.”

“We can, babe, we can.” Poe believes that, he does. He sits down, and pulls Kylo to sit, too. Knee to knee, and Kylo’s head on his shoulder.   


“How?”  


“We work it out.”  


***

Kylo sleeps the night, and Poe doesn’t even care how risky it is. His lover needs it, so he gets it. In the morning, many-twitches later, he wakes and curls into him. Warm hands, warm bed, cold world. 

“I don’t know how to keep going,” Kylo whispers. “I don’t know how to keep doing this.”  


He pushes fingers through his hair, leans in, kisses him on the side of the mouth. “You can keep going. You’re strong. You can do this.”

“I… I can’t…” Stammered, broken words. “I tried. I can’t. He - he–”  


“He what, babe? Talk to me.”  


“H-he… makes me do things, and I c-can’t say… no… and… and… I c-can’t understand why you want to look at me…”  


“Because I understand you’re doing the only thing you can. You need to survive, Kylo. Do you think it would be better back with the Jedi?”  


“ _No_. No. Then I wouldn’t even have you, and you’re the only thing even **remotely** keeping me safe and sane.”  


Selfish, he’d been, to think otherwise. “Okay. You need to do what he asks of you, for as long as it takes. We can’t stop him, wherever we go, so you just have to make him as happy as you can so it doesn’t hurt.”

Kylo nods, hiding in him, swallowing. 

“Understand that I love you, alright? I do. I know this isn’t ideal, but there is no ideal. We make the best of what the galaxy gives us, and we stay together. We stay together, because we’re stronger together.”  


“I’m sorry I hurt you.”  


“Huh?”  


“I was so angry. Not with you, but I was angry. And I couldn’t stop myself, and–”  


Oh. This is about when Kylo fucked him raw? It had - he had to admit - been a little rougher than wise. Poe hadn’t objected in theory, but he’d suffered the next day. “It’s okay–”

“It isn’t. I could have hurt you. _You_. Just because I was angry. And… I can’t be that person, Poe. Not with you. I _can’t_.”  


Poe would agree that not being fucked so raw he ached and could barely sit in his cockpit and had to hide the bruises and marks in communal ‘fresher areas would help. He’d taken it at the time, thinking Kylo needed to vent off the frustration, and he’d do it again… but only if there was no other way.

“Okay. We won’t. We’ll do other things, instead.”  


“Like _what_?”  


“Like if you’re feeling that upset, then I’ll tie you up and hold you down. So you can thrash against the restraints, and I can take - or ride - you. You can still be forceful and violent, but it won’t be against me. And I’ll remind you, as I please you, that I love you. That I love you, even angry. That I am here, even for the dark days.”  


“You… you… don’t… mind?”  


“Kylo.” Hand pulling him in, foreheads touching. “I love you. I love you with all I am. If this is what you need…”  


Poe isn’t a hundred percent sure it is, but from the haunted, hungry look in his lover’s eyes… it just might be. Kylo normally likes it when they play like that: when Poe holds his wrists, or covers his mouth, or his throat. They’ve dabbled, and it normally turns the night electric hot, but there’s been no real organisation to it. But if it means Kylo feels like he won’t hurt him, then it’ll be fine.

After all, Poe likes it, too. Likes seeing Kylo held down, bound in promises, ready and hungry. 

“…then I _want_ it,” he adds, letting some of his own hunger spill into his voice.  


Kylo shudders in his arms. It’s a good sensation, and something just clicks. Like the tumblers inside an old-fashioned lock, it just… slips into place.

“ _Please_.”  


So. That’s tonight sorted, then. Poe starts thinking up tools and methods and scenarios, even as they rush to the shower. Both of them are late for the day, but now Poe thinks he might feel better, this time tomorrow. Both of them. 


End file.
